


betrothal

by AtLoLevad



Series: the baratheon bunch [10]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Father and daughter, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLoLevad/pseuds/AtLoLevad
Summary: Gendry and his daughter discuss her future. Companion piece to ‘unravelling’
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Series: the baratheon bunch [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1387333
Comments: 18
Kudos: 111





	betrothal

“Papa?”

“Hmm?” Gendry doesn’t look up from the accounts book, scratching his pen over the parchment. He’s still absolute shit at sums, but Arya’s away, visiting Sansa, so he’s on his own with the accounting. His forehead creases and he scratches out a number - “That doesn’t make sense,” he mutters, frustrated.

Nourah laughs a bit. “Papa, can I have a moment of your time?” She’s proud that her voice doesn’t seem to betray the nerves she feels.

Now, Gendry looks up and his face splits into a broad grin at the sight of his eldest daughter. “For you, little storm, you can have a whole handful of moments.”

He chuckles at his own jape and Nourah rolls her eyes. Her father’s always been quiet, but prone to teasing the children happily. He’s always ready with a smile for them and is more than happy to sit and listen to them chatter on - even when they have nothing but nonsense to say. Once, her mother mentioned that father didn’t have family other than his own mother who had died when he was young. As she got older, Nourah realized that her father wasn’t like other lord fathers - he spent just as much time with Nourah and her siblings as he did running the Stormlands. He loved them more than anything and Nourah never took for granted just how lucky they all were to grow up with Arya and Gendry as their parents.

“I wouldn’t want to take you away from your sums,” she teases, laughing openly at the scowl that crosses her father’s face.

“Damn your mother for leaving this to me,” he grumbles. “She was supposed to have done the numbers before leaving for Winterfell.”

“Could Da help?” Nourah looks at the book, upside down from where she’s standing, and wrinkles her nose as well. She’s good with sums - mother and Maester Jurne made sure of that - but that doesn’t mean she likes them.

“Ah, let Da have his retirement,” Gendry grins. “You know he’s only good for spoiling you lot now anyway.”

“Da spoiled us long before his retirement,” Nourah counters, sinking into the seat across from Gendry’s desk that was usually Arya’s.

Gendry nods, laughing. “That is true. Now,” he leans forward, interlacing his fingers, “what did you need? I know you didn’t come to make fun of your lord father.”

His eyes twinkle, the wrinkles at the corners deepening as he smiles. Nourah smiles back reflexively, but she knows it doesn’t reach her eyes. “No,” she admits, “I did want to discuss something with you.”

She’s grateful that her father doesn’t press her to speak while she gathers her thoughts. She wonders briefly if he has an inkling of what she needs to ask him - after all, it’s been nearly four moons since she confessed her feelings for Mychael Tarly to her mother and she knew that her parents didn’t keep secrets, not from each other. But his gaze gives nothing away and Nourah is a little unsettled.

“I am ready for a betrothal,” she says quickly, her voice sounding oddly formal even to her own ears. Her fingers bunch up the fabric of her linen dress and then smooth them out just as quickly. Aunt Sansa would have a fit is she saw the state of her dress.

The slight smile that had been playing on Gendry’s lips falls and his forehead creases. “Are you?” he asks, after a pause.

Nourah nods. “I am nine and ten, Father. Durran was the same age at his wedding to Lyarra.”

Gendry grunts a response, his stomach sinking at the thought of Nourah leaving home. “Aye, he was,” he concedes.

And then he goes silent. Nourah fidgets in her seat, impatient and anxious. “Father -“ she blurts out finally, the silence putting her on edge.

Gendry raises a hand for her to fall silent. The corner of his mouth twitches up under his beard. With his other hand, Gendry rummages around the papers covering his desk and produces a scroll. Nourah eyes it warily.

“Might this sudden desire for a betrothal have anything to do with the raven I received from King’s Landing two days ago?” he asks, failing to hide his amusement.

Nourah’s mouth drops open and she gasps, “Father! You knew? You let me come in here, terrified to tell you, and you knew?”

Stunned anger blazes in her eyes - so like Arya. Gendry hushes her.

“Come now, little storm. What do you take me for?” he holds his hand out in peace. “I haven’t read the scroll, but I believe I know who it is from and what he inquires.”

“Oh,” Nourah sinks back in the chair, wrinkling her nose. “Are you going to read it?”

Gendry nods. “Aye, I am. Did you know this raven was coming?”

Nourah shakes her head - she hadn’t. She and Mychael had agreed to wed, with Mychael proposing during Nourah’s trip to King’s Landing two moons ago. She had assumed that he would eventually ask her father for her hand officially, but hadn’t known when. The business of betrothals and alliance marriages was much more lax under the rule of King Bran. Arya and Gendry were even more lax about political marriages for their children.

Gendry cracks the wax seal with his thumbnail and reads the few words on the scroll aloud, “Lord Baratheon, it is my greatest wish that you will allow a betrothal between myself and the Lady Nourah. I love your daughter, truly, and though I am not the Lord of Horn Hill, my lord brother has seen fit to bequeath me Highgarden upon my wedding. I shall strive to provide only the best for Lady Nourah and will love her until the end of my days. Respectfully, Mychael Tarly.”

Nourah’s cheeks pink at Mychael’s words. Gendry looks over the parchment at her and smiles.

“Quite a way with words, that one,” he comments blithely, “not like his father or myself.”

“He is very sweet,” Nourah allows, a soft smile gracing her features.

“Aye,” Gendry agrees thoughtfully, “he’s a respectable man. From a good family.” He peers at Nourah, “I’m not quite as stupid as your mother likes to claim, you used to follow Mychael around like a lost direwolf.”

“I wasn’t quite that bad!” Nourah protests, but Gendry laughs a little and she relents. “He was nice to me as a child and now we get along very well. I love him, papa.”

Gendry looks at his grown daughter, sadness tugging at his heart. “I know quite a bit about falling in love with a childhood friend, Nour.” He smiles, but it’s bittersweet. “I’m only glad you got to happiness with less strife than your mother and I did.”

He pushes back from the desk and stands, opening his arms. Nourah steps into them, resting her cheek against Gendry’s worn leathers.

“Highgarden isn’t very far from Storm’s End,” she mumbles, tears unexpectedly filling her eyes.

“No, not very far at all,” Gendry says, his voice choked up. Nourah will always be his baby - despite the four children that follow her - she is his first daughter, the first little girl to look at him with wide eyes and undivided love. He only hopes Nourah will speak about him one day in the same revered manner Arya speaks about Ned Stark.

“I’m sure Mychael will do something stupid and I’ll need to come home to cool off,” she says, laughing a little.

“You, my little storm, always have a home at Storm’s End”, Gendry vows, pressing a lingering kiss to the crown of her head.

“I love you, papa,” Nourah’s arms squeeze tighter around his middle and Gendry’s eyes well with tears.

“And I you, Nourah,” he grips her upper arms and leans back from the hug, winking at her, “Now, I think I have a reply raven to send.”

Nourah grins at him and leans up on her toes to kiss his cheek before running off. He smiles after her, running a hand over his chin.

————-

Arya returns from Winterfell half a moon later, in the middle of the night. She slips silently into bed next to her husband, not intending to wake him, but Gendry doesn’t sleep as well when she’s not next to him.

“She’s leaving, Arry,” he mumbles, reaching out and pulling her close. Arya doesn’t have to ask what he means - she knew of Nourah’s plans.

“She’s still your little girl, Gendry,” she murmurs, tucking her head under his chin and wrapping her body around his.

He scoffs a little. “Not for much longer. Soon she’ll be someone’s wife.”

He’s quiet and Arya knows what he’s going through - she felt much the same way when Durran was betrothed and then wed. There’s not much she can say to soothe him, so she just runs her fingers up and down his side, letting him hold her close.

“Before we know it, we’ll be the only ones left in Storm’s End,” Gendry sighs. It’s not true - Durran and his wife live in the castle and will always live here, as he’s heir to the lordship, but Arya knows what he means.

“Good thing I like you, then,” she teases, kissing his neck softly. His arms tighten around her back.

“She was just a tiny thing yesterday, bossing us all around,” he says, “how did she grow so fast?”

Arya shrugs. “I’m not sure, but I thank the Seven that we were here to witness it all.”

“Aye,” he returns quietly.

**Author's Note:**

> hi have another gendrya fic! i’m pretty sure this is my last foray into the gendrya fic fandom. but never say never. i have a couple other fic ideas i may get around to writing one day, but nothing concrete. in any case, thank you for being so wonderful and welcoming and enthusiastic! i’ve had a blast and i hope you guys enjoy this fic!


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